Chapter 2 - Through The Double Doors
I didn't look back at the table when I stood. I could feel the chandelier light too bright on my face and the smell of prawns and hot oil hanging in the air, and I grabbed my handbag from the chair beside me and held the top handle tight until the gold clasp pressed into my palm.
My right hand was throbbing. The red mark across the back of it and up my wrist stood out against my sleeve. I tucked the bag up under my arm so no one would keep staring at it, and I walked.
The double doors were already open. Daylight from the hallway spilled in across the dark wood floor, brighter than the dining room in a way that made my eyes water. I heard a chair scrape hard behind me. I heard Vanessa say my name like a warning, and Rosa say Daniel's name low and sharp.
I kept walking. My heels hit the floor too loud in the quiet. I passed through the doorway and into the hall, where the white walls were bare except for a long mirror, and I could see myself in it before I could stop myself — hair falling forward, blouse wrinkled at the waist, burgundy skirt twisted from sitting too long.
"You went too far!" Daniel said behind me.
He'd followed me out. His voice bounced off the tile in the hall. When I turned, he was standing in the doorway, his blazer pulled open, his hands out at his sides. Through the gap behind him I could see the table, the platters still centered, the water glasses catching light. Vanessa was half-turned in her chair watching us. Rosa hadn't moved.
I didn't answer him in the doorway. I walked farther down the hall toward the front entry, where a bench sat under a tall arched window and the sheer curtain moved a little with the air conditioning. I stopped there. I needed distance from all those eyes.
He came after me. His shoes were quieter than mine. When he reached me, he lowered his voice.
"Maya, come on. Come back and sit down," he said. "Please, don't do this here."
I looked at his left wrist, at his watch catching the light, and then at his face. His beard couldn't hide how tight his mouth was.
"I'm not going back in there until this money thing is clear," I said. "I mean it."
He glanced back toward the dining room, then back at me. "It's lunch. It's my mom. She didn't mean it like that."
"She meant it exactly like that." My handbag strap dug into my fingers. "So did Vanessa."
From the dining room I could hear the clink of a plate, then Vanessa's voice carrying just enough. "She always has to make it about her." Then Rosa murmuring something I couldn't make out, and one of the other guests laughing low, nervous.
Daniel heard it too. His shoulders dropped a little.
"Look," he said, softer now. "Just come eat. We'll talk about the rest later. At home. Okay? You're making everyone uncomfortable."
I stared at him. The hallway felt too narrow. The daylight through the entry window showed dust in the air between us.
"I'm uncomfortable," I said. "Did you think about that?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I know. I know your hand hurts. Let me get you some ice and we'll finish, and then we'll go. My mom worked hard on this meal."
I shifted the handbag to my other hand. The diamond ring on my left hand felt loose; I'd lost a little weight that month and hadn't gotten it resized. I pressed my thumb against the band to keep it steady.
"Daniel," I said. "If I sit back down, it's over. It'll be decided. Your mother manages everything. My check goes with yours. That's what she said."
"It's not decided," he said. "Nothing's decided. Just — give me a minute to calm them down."
"Go calm them down, then," I said.
He blinked. "What?"
"Go back in there," I said. "Tell them I'm taking a minute. Eat. Be the good son for ten minutes. I'm not going back to that table like this."
For a second I thought he would argue. His mouth opened, then closed. Behind him, Rosa called his name again, clearer this time. Daniel.
"Are you leaving?" he asked.
I looked past him toward the front door. Through the frosted glass I could see the bright blur of the driveway, the shape of my car out there in the daylight. My phone was in my handbag. My keys were in there too. I had everything I came with.
"I'm leaving the room," I said. "I'm not sitting there and pretending that was okay. You go back. I'll wait out here."
He didn't move right away. Then he nodded once, quick, and stepped back toward the dining room. "Just don't drive off," he said. "Promise me you'll wait so we can talk."
I didn't promise. I just held my bag with both hands in front of me and stood by the bench under the window, listening to his footsteps go back through the double doors.
May you like
I heard his voice soften as he reentered, saying something to the table I couldn't hear. I heard a chair move. The doors stayed open, but no one came out after him.
I stood there alone in the entry, the house quiet around me except for the low murmur from the dining room, and I realized my breathing had gone shallow. I made myself breathe in slow. I looked down at my red hand, at the ring, at the small cream bag with its gold clasp, and I decided I wasn't waiting inside this house.
